


When death comes, it will have your eyes.

by LorenIndra



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29902929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LorenIndra/pseuds/LorenIndra
Summary: Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, is afraid of dying. That's why, when opportunity presents itself, he makes a deal with a benevolent, yet rather dangerous creature. Conditions are simple: Julian will live until he finds a true love. For a century, everything goes smoothly. Then, he meets a certain witcher.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	When death comes, it will have your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP, so something (everything?) may change later. Stay tuned.
> 
> I do not own original characters/story.

“My friend, you should not be so rush in your conclusions about the nature of time,” an old man with a long, grey beard, professor Almahtum Zaman, said slowly, but loudly, waving his hands just a little too passionately, as if this discussion was really getting on his nerves. And it probably was. Academicians those days were so full of themselves.

Wine in his glass was dangerously close to spill over the edge.

“Time is just another sea we are yet to conquer,” Julian replied. He took a sip from his own glass, feeling as a cheap taste clung to the root of his tongue. One could never expect a good wine from gatherings like this one.

Although, they could have pretended, at least, that they cared. It was supposed to be a very special occasion, after all. Cheerful, too. A celebration of life, of its victory over death. And yet, music, as well as guests and cuisine had yet to fail to make him feel something different from an urge to jump out of the tall window.

“Time is a complicated matter.” Ah, another lecture. Julian rolled his eyes to the enormous chandelier in the centre of the ceiling. “We, as pathetic human beings, who don’t necessarily have an access to magic, cannot fully explore time. Your rhetoric is rather poetical.”

Well, Julian was a poet. Of course, his rhetoric was poetical.

He furrowed. It was a bad idea to approach Zaman in the first place. The more they talked, the more Julian detested this a rather one-sided conversation. Zaman did not tell him anything Julian had not known already.

Poets those days were also so full of themselves.

“And the thing you want is impossible to achieve. You can’t freeze time. Immortality is just a fairytale – a nonsense – that peasants invented because they were scared of dying. Don’t say you actually believe it, young man. I met your father once, surely he could not…”

Julian did not listen to the rest of this speech – he heard it so many times he already knew how it was going to end. One of the thousand candles on the chandelier blinked and went out.

Zaman was mistaken, though. Peasants had not made up those stories; mages had. Only one who got close to immortality could be this terrified of loosing it.

“We grow old and we die. This is the law of life. Even sorcerers are not able to break this circle,” Zaman finished, looking rather pleased with himself. Like he said something smart.

“You know nothing about it, do you?” Julian murmured quietly, but in that very moment, the music traitorously stopped playing. Zaman’s face changed; the colour of his wine travelled to his wrinkled neck and flabby cheeks.

But he did not get a chance to say anything.

“My apologies, gentlemen. I’m afraid I involuntarily eavesdropped your conversation.” A bold man, dressed rather simply, which made him to stand out in the room filled with scholars and aristocrats, whose only desire was to show off their new gowns, appeared before them. He ignored Zaman completely; his eyes, almost black on the verge of eeriness, were fixed on Julian alone.

Julian breathed out, relieved.

“It’s alright. May I ask for your name, master?..” It mattered very little who the man actually was – or what he did to stop Zaman from outbursting. First and foremost, he happened to be Julian’s saviour.

“Gaunter O’Dimm, the merchant of mirrors. At your service.” O’Dimm bowed and Julian answered with the same respect.

That was… something new. Julian spent only two hours in this room and during that time, he met two princes, five princesses – and one very angry with him at that moment physicist. A person with an actual job was quite refreshing. The job itself was, too, unusual. Julian had never thought about people who sold mirrors. Mirrors, in his imagination, just mystically appeared in houses – or had always been there.

“How… peculiar,” Julian said, truly charmed.

Zaman clicked his tongue.

It was so easy to forget he was still there.

“I see Francesca Findabair over there. Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to speak to her about Houtborg triplets…”

“And here I thought humans were too pathetic for you,” Julian said when Zaman left, disappearing in the crowd.

O’Dimm chuckled.

“Oh, those physicists. Think they know their subject better than poets know poetry.”

He was not wrong. Julian smiled.

“I did not introduce myself, did I? My name is…”

“I am afraid I have to interrupt you once more, but I simply cannot resist saying that I, as an educated man, know exactly who you are, Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. You have quite a reputation. And I adore your poetry.”

“Oh, an aficionado?” Of course, Julian met many of those, but he flustered a little nevertheless. Perhaps, a cheap wine finally went to his head. “I am flattered.”

“The last one is my favourite. Not that I am not that fond of others, no. But this line, _and my heart shall burn as Falka was burnt_ is a pure perfection. Absolutely magnificent. Love, yes, but also war and the inevitability of time. What’s not to adore?”

Julian winced. It was a strange thing to say. Like O’Dimm had read his mind – not now – but that night when Julian leaned over the creased paper in his hotel room, twitching from every whisper that came from outside the curtained window.

“Where did you hear it? It is rather new. I was too worried to sing it publicly right after the rebellion.”

“Well, let’s just say I am going a little ahead of time,” O’Dimm’s face beamed.

Yet another strange thing to say.

Perhaps, in normal circumstances, Julian would have overlooked those suspicious implications, hidden behind honeyed tone. But he was desperate – and too tuned in with everything that was happening around him, especially with things and words that concerned his latest obsession directly.

“May I ask you why did you interrupt my ever so fruitful discussion with Zaman?” Julian inquired cautiously.

“I saw you in distress and simply came to your rescue,” O’Dimm said, looking straight into Julian’s eyes.

Julian knew instantly that O’Dimm was lying; the man did not try to cover it very well.

“There are plenty of knights in shining armour at this party and yet I was saved by a merchant.” He decided to play along. There was not any reason for him to be impolite and act on his suspicions. Besides, _Julian_ was not lying – O’Dimm _did_ save him; and graciously so, stepping on Zaman’s ego in the process.

“Perhaps, you will be willing to share what were you discussing with our dear professor?”

To think of it, Julian had never told O’Dimm who exactly Zaman was. Either the man had an impeccable intuition – or…

Something about O’Dimm was irresistibly likable; trustworthy, even. His broad face with void-like eyes, his posture, his smile. His choice of words – and Julian, as a poet, appreciated it the most. But something was equally wrong with him – perhaps, the same things that were worth to admire.

“Do you know Zaman?”

“I have not met him until today and I must say I do not regret it in a slightest. But I follow his career. He has interesting ideas, even if some of them are rather stale.”

“Follow his career,” Julian parroted, pensively. “I do not wish to offend you, but his work is not within your area of expertise.”

“You did not offend me at all, my dear friend. The title of my job can be very deceiving at times, but I assure you, selling mirrors is merely an occupation. Time, however, is my truest passion.”

Someone screamed to the orchestra that the music they were playing had become too ominous. The tune changed, accordingly to the event, this time.

“Mind if we continue this conversation on the balcony?” Julian asked and O’Dimm gestured for him to go first.

They made it through the crowd not without complications, so when the cool air of the night greeted Julian with its embrace, he felt relieved; grateful, even. He had not even thought how much he needed to escape that stuffy room. However, his relief only lasted for a moment.

Julian leaned on a stone rail, breathing heavily. Down below, the waves gently rustled, crashing on rocks; was not that noise supposed to have a therapeutical effect? It did not calm him down; on the contrary, his chest painfully tightened and, despite how chilly the evening was, sweat beaded on his forehead.

It was too soon; he should not have returned to Oxenfurt. But he was invited – and he accepted the invitation on a dare, out of his own stupidity.

People in that room – they all pretended nothing happened; like it was just another ball. Like streets of Oxenfurt were not drown in blood, like bodies of guilty and innocent were not piling up there just a year ago. But none of those aristocrats were there when Falka’s rebellion outbroke.

Julian was. He just did not think he would – mentally – return to those nights when he had to hide from an angry mob, ravenous for executing him in the most horrible ways they could imagine. And everything was fine – they had washed away blood from the streets just fine; nothing was there to remind him of those weeks he spent in the endless agony between life and death. Until he went out on that damn balcony, where the air smelled like pine trees and the sea.

Pine trees which were used by the rebels as improvised gallows when they were out of places where they could hang priests, nobility, gentry and sorcerers inside the city.  
The sea turned scarlet from the bodies that were thrown out into it.

“Are you alright, my friend?” Julian heard a distant voice and held on to it as it was an oar and he was trying not to be swallowed by that almost black water underneath him.

“Just wonderful.” He forced a smile. O’Dimm raised his eyebrows.

“You probably should not stand so close to the edge.”

Julian nodded, more to himself than to O’Dimm, and took a step back, pressing into the wall behind him.

“You don’t look wonderful, though. You look… pale.”

Oh, he felt pale, too. Like blood drained from his face – but also like he had become, again, that version of himself he was not proud of.

“If you want to return…”

“No, no, I am fine, truly,” Julian lied, trying to hide a tremble in his voice. He cleared his throat. “So, what is it about you and your infatuation with time?”

“You first. I delivered you from that awfully dull man, after all.”

“I asked him if there was a way to… stop time. Not as in freezing it. I…” he trailed off. After months of fruitless search, the idea itself started to sound foolish. “I just cannot comprehend that I will die, one day. Again. Just… do not laugh, please. I know that immortality is a myth, by now. I am just clutching at straws.”

“I was not going to laugh at you. Time can, indeed, be stopped - and immortality is not a myth. Perhaps, you just have not spoken with the right person yet.”

“I did. From Poviss to Nilfgaard. Sorceresses and sorcerers, mages, wizards, alchemists, priests, druids, farseers, crones, Aen Saevherne – and they all turned me down.”

“Giving up already?” O’Dimm asked and Julian swore he could hear just a hint of cruel mockery.

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I just don’t want to die anymore,” Julian finished meekly.

O’Dimm hummed.

“What if I told you there is a way for you?”

Julian shook his head.

“I would say you are a liar. The brightest minds called me a lunatic, a dreamer, an insolent brat. Less bright ones actually found some time to talk to me. But no matter who I asked, who I begged, the answer always was the same.”

“Wrong people.” O’Dimm shrugged.

That was getting ridiculous. The conversation run around in circles and Julian suddenly felt terribly exhausted. He needed to get out from Oxenfurt – now, preferably.

“If you know anyone who could help me, speak up,” he said wearily.

“Well… _I_ certainly would not turn you down.”

Julian snickered.

“Forgive me, I am afraid a mirror will only make things worse for me; nothing reminds of an inevitable death more than seeing thyself aging.”

“Even if I am sure any mirror would be honoured to reflect your lovely face, I am not offering you one. I simply wish to grant you what you desire.”

“You did not just involuntarily eavesdrop my conversation with Zaman, did you?”

“I did not.” O’Dimm’s mouth formed a very thin line.

“And who are you, exactly? A sorcerer? A djinn?”

“Neither. But does it really matter if I have what you want?”

 _No_ , Julian did not say; but _yes_ at the same time. If O’Dimm did not lie – all Julian had dreamt of for the last year was finally within his reach; and he did not really care who would give it to him. But…

“And you are doing this why, exactly? Don’t tell me you are just so benevolent you offer immortality freely to anyone who is interested.”

O’Dimm laughed.

“Of course not. You are not just anyone. And I am not offering it freely.”

That explained everything. The nature of O’Dimm, his kind eyes and warm smile - and why his presence gave Julian chills. The devil was and always would be a gentleman, after all.

“Goetia is bullshit,” Julian said sharply, flinching internally from how rude it sounded. “I have tried it, too. Did not work.”

“Did not it?”

It _did not_. Julian was barely standing after the ritual – so desperately he wanted to succeed. He had slept for two days and after that, looking in the mirror became physically painful; people were rarely beautiful after such a massive blood loss. He did not dare to do it one more time, of course, because the first attempt failed.

“Are you a demon, then?”

O’Dimm sighed heavily.

“I am here to help. Allow me to keep my secrets. After all, I don’t ask you about yours.” A dangerous glint appeared in O’Dimm’s eyes, but only for a second. Julian’s throat clicked as he swallowed heavily. And although O’Dimm did not ask, he strongly implied he _knew_.

Julian could just walk away and forget this conversation ever happened; O’Dimm would not stop him. It would be reasonable, sensible and smart. Julian was neither of those things. And, above that, he craved immortality so vigorously, that turning it down now would be foolish, if not outright insane.

And yet, he hesitated.

“What do you want in return?” Julian realized how stupid this question only after the words left his mouth. There was only one thing demons wanted.

O’Dimm scratched his chin.

“Nothing. Although, I will be absolutely delighted if you continue to write.”

“Not what I meant.” Julian shook his head. “How are you going to collect my soul if I am immortal?” he asked, feeling like he was digging his own grave. But in contracts like this, everything had to be negotiated properly – this much he had learnt from the books.

Long silence, interrupted only by the howling wind and roaring waves, fell between them.

“Let’s say,” O’Dimm finally spoke. “You stay young and beautiful until you find love. But after that, you will slowly wither, like people usually do without it.”

Julian stared in those impossible black eyes for a second and then giggled; a highly inappropriate reaction in this situation, but he could not help it. O’Dimm’s words were positively ridiculous.

“My eternity will end rather quickly.”

“As far as I can see, you will never receive the sweetest kiss of the void, master Julian.”

O’Dimm was so confident, like he knew Julian better than the man knew himself. And not only his thoughts, his secrets or his story – but everything there was to know. Maybe he did. It was outrageous and reassuring at the same time.

“What’s in it to you, anyway?” Another strange question to ask; but at this point, Julian was just delaying the inevitable. Accepting O'Dimm's offer was scary no matter how much he wanted it. He had read about people who agreed to this kind of a deals; those stories were not pretty. People lost everything before they – finally – died. Their loved ones, their fortune, their humanity. The last one worried him the most; after what he experienced, he could not let himself to become inhumane. He could not let himself to become _her_.

“Well, I am the most loyal fan of yours.” Julian bestowed a small quirk of eyebrows upon O’Dimm. The man held up his hands. “Fine, fine. You called for me – and I am glad you did, don’t get me wrong. It is merely my duty, however, to at least offer you a deal, especially when you were so zealous in your search.”

Julian lifted his eyes to the sky. Every fibre of his soul screamed in excitement and anticipation.

“I want it,” Julian said, eventually; and nothing he had ever said in his life before sounded as sincere as this.

O’Dimm smiled and reached out his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the work is the first line from the poem of the same name by Cesare Pavese.
> 
> About Falka's rebellion. If you have never heard of it, it happened in the witcher's world in 1150s (approximately a century before what happened in A Question of Price story; you know, the one with the royal wedding) in Redania and Temeria. I strongly recommend to go and read about it.


End file.
